


Days of Despair

by Despair Girl (Nagitoes_Crackmaeda)



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Pre-Game DRV3
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagitoes_Crackmaeda/pseuds/Despair%20Girl
Summary: WARNING: Violence, non-con (various), abuse (various), self-harm, etc.This will be, specifically, a pre-game Shuichi/Kokichi fiction. Yes. I am one of THOSE shippers. Sorry,notsorry. The entire cast will be involved, with multiple relationships between canon characters represented by fanon, pre-game personas. I've planned a lot of detail, so I HOPE (yeeee) AND PRAY (omg,thoughIpray) I can articulate my ideas and headcanons in the best way possible. Pleasssssssse, enjoy.
Relationships: Shuichi Saihara/Kokichi Ouma
Comments: 9
Kudos: 79





	1. Enter Shuichi Saihara

The sound of students chattering and lockers slamming as a bell sounded off in the background reverberated through the halls of what was no more than a typical high-school. _Yes, just a typical school filled with typical people; typical drama, typical lies, typical truths._ Nothing more.

_What a typical existence._

Shuichi Saihara was exactly three weeks away from his eighteenth birthday. _Exactly three weeks away from being more than just a typical high-school student._ He was more than ready to throw away this worthless, routine life of his. Few things kept him entertained, and this school was hardly one of them. In fact, there was only _one hobby_ of his that kept things exciting, and that was watching the world's current TV hit-

"DANGANRONPA!" A girl screamed from somewhere down the hall, ecstatically. Shuichi glanced behind him as he made his way through the fourth-period bustle. He could hear a group of girls giggling and talking way above the noise level of the rest of the crowd, but he pressed on with little interest. Everyone was obsessed with Danganronpa, the **killing game** that was broadcast live to the entire world from...somewhere. The location of the actual game was unknown, yet that never stopped anybody from dreaming of being whisked away as the show's next participant.

Shuichi was no different. Danganronpa was all he ever looked forward to at the end of the day, if he wasn't already sneaking out his phone during class to watch it. He, too, had caught himself daydreaming on multiple occasions about being one of the next Ultimate students, and using his Ultimate talent to survive the killing game at all costs. It was often that his daydreaming led to such an euphoric feeling that he had to physically tense his body to keep himself from bursting out. Danganronpa was the meaning of life, itself.

It was five minutes until Shuichi had to be in his fourth-period classroom. As much as he dreaded having to sit and listen to another boring lecture given about the history of Japan, he knew it wasn't much longer before this school would be behind him. It was worth another three, exhausting weeks if it meant he could drop out and enjoy watching the killing game distraction-free until the auditions for the fifty-third season opened up. This year was absolutely going to be his year.

There was no way he could be turned down for something he was so passionate about. Shuichi knew with all his faithlessness in humanity that he would be perfect for a killing game. He had always wanted it, and wanting so badly had to count for something. _Right?_ Maybe not, but there was no doubt that he was the biggest Danganronpa fan. He had caught up on every season since the debut, and continued to watch as it aired, today.

 _Then, again..._ He began thinking to himself as he dragged his feet up the stairs to his History class. _So many people follow the killing games. There's no way I'm the only one who wants to participate this badly. I'm going to have to make sure I stand out._

Shuichi had arrived just outside the door of the classroom. His head was spinning with ideas, now; he didn't even remember making it to the top of the stairs. _How, though? I could kill off the competition, I suppose..._ He felt a smirk glide across his lips as he played around with the thought inside his head. _No, blood-lust should be saved for the killing game._

He sighed, removing his hat before gripping the handle to the classroom door. Most of the professors didn't allow hats to be worn inside their classrooms, but it was hard for Shuichi to part ways with his during school hours. It was a simple, black cap with three, thick, white lines on the right side. To most, it was rather ordinary. To Shuichi Saihara, it resembled something sleuth-like. He had always been obsessed with detectives in the killing game, though they were few and far between. Kyoko Kirigiri was by far his favorite; she was the detective that assisted the protagonist, Makoto Naegi, in the first ever season of Danganronpa. There was never another character quite like her.

_Kyoko...I wonder what your life was like before Danganronpa?_

After opening the door and sliding quietly into the classroom, Shuichi managed to weasel his way to his seat. He didn't go unnoticed, however; everyone was already at their desk, looking just as enthusiastic as he felt. Their dull eyes followed him until he unpacked his textbooks and sat down. _Late, again._

He avoided everyone's gaze as he awaited the scolding that was sure to come. He was subconsciously fidgeting with his hat as he held it under the desk, rubbing his finger gently over the tiny, bronze, star-shaped pin that was attached at the edge of the hat, just below the three lines.

That star was perhaps the most important detail of the hat. Shuichi had been sent the pin as a prize for calling in and answering several Danganronpa-related questions for a local radio station, and as cliche as that sounded, the pin itself was considered official merchandise that was limited to a quantity of thirty. It was a small memento of how well he knew the show, and therefore, he took pride in it.

"Shuichi Saihara," the voice of his History professor, Mrs. Shinguji, split the uneasy silence.

When Shuichi finally looked up, he saw that she was now in front of the class, arms crossed. Her twisted, red lips and furrowed brows gave away her disgust. It _was_ disgust, too. Unlike every other professor that just simply refused to acknowledge Shuichi's existence, this one just _had_ to take the opportunity to make a scene almost every single day.

"I don't believe I need to tell you what it is you did wrong," she continued, "So, I suppose you will be taking this detention, and we will leave it at that. Does that sound fair? Time management, Saihara!"

Habitually, Shuichi rolled his eyes and breathed a heavy sigh. He didn't answer. All of this was so, absolutely _pointless_.

"Saihara."

_Pointless. Hopeless. Worthless._

"Saihara!"

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

"Saihara, that's it. I'm sending you to the office."

_So...goddamn STUPID._

"Stop playing with yourself under that desk and pay attention to me."

Suddenly, the whole class burst into laughter. Painful, cruel laughter. Shuichi was forced out of his thoughts by the sound, only to realize he had still been mindlessly playing with his hat. He looked down, back up at Mrs. Shinguji, and then around the class. Everyone was cracking jokes and mocking him, now.

 _Shuichi Saihara, the big, fat fucking joke_. The "emo kid" that sat in the back of the class watching gory television shows. That gloomy boy who isolates himself from every other student, acting as though he hates them. Truth was, _he did_. He _hated_ every last one of these pathetic, cowardly losers.

Without really meaning to, he had let the hat slide out of his hands. He felt his body move almost involuntarily. In an instant, his desk was flipped over, and he was on his feet. Shuichi could feel his face grow hotter by the second as he balled his hands into fists and surveyed the classroom, once more.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?!" The professor's voice rang out, again. A girl who had been sitting next to Shuichi had jumped up in shock and was gasping. The boy who sat in front of him, whose chair had been smacked by his desk, was now glaring and mumbling something derogatory under his breath. Everyone's face was filled with either fear or hostility. "That's it! To the office, Saihara. _Now_!"

Begrudgingly, Shuichi had dropped his tensed posture. He snatched up his textbooks and his hat, shoved the books into his backpack, and quickly stomped out of the room. He threw the door open as he left, causing another wave of commotion behind him. There was no way he would ever care what these people thought of him.

 _Shuichi Saihara, the soon-to-be Ultimate Detective_. He loved the sound of that.


	2. Social Hierarchy

Shuichi didn't make it to the principal's office. He didn't even make it back down to the first floor. With absolutely no desire to deal with the consequences of his behavior in class, he had decided to take a detour and hide it out.

He now stood just within the entrance to the boys' restroom on the second floor of the school, watching in horrific admiration the scene that was unfolding before his very eyes. Not a single soul had noticed him, yet, which wasn't surprising. Despite the classroom incident, as populated as this shithole of a school was, he often went unnoticed.

Sometimes, this invisibility was a blessing.

It _was_ unfortunate, however, that there were some students that seemed to _never_ go unnoticed. For example: the boy standing directly across from Shuichi, at the opposite end of the restroom, being backed into a corner by a group of upperclassmen baring weapons. For the ones like him, there was no solace. _Ever_. He had a target taped to his back that he could never be rid of.

Some people were, and always would be, victims to a fault. It was all just part of an unwritten social hierarchy that dictated who was on top of the food chain, and who would be swallowed whole by the system. You either fight and claw your way to the top using willpower and ability to adapt, or you topple to the bottom. There was an in-between, of course, but those people were always in the process of either climbing the ladder or taking the fall.

What Shuichi was witnessing was nothing more than the roles of power in play: a hopeless individual, a group of ravenous teenagers, and an encounter that was not uncommon.

The three harassers were closing in on the boy, and in order to keep his blessing of invisibility, Shuichi did not intervene. As cruel or unkind as he would seem, there was no point in risking his own health for someone he had never even met, before. The world wasn't nice, and no one would expect him to be nice, either.

But that was neither here nor there. The show was about to begin.

The victim had been pushed against the wall; his tiny body was visibly trembling under the weight of fear and anxiety. He looked weak. Really weak. There was no composure left, at all. Slouched over in absolute defeat, he had his head hung like there was already a noose around his neck. A mop of thick, deep-violet hair hid any evidence of emotion on his face.

Shuichi wondered if the boy had already pissed himself, at this point.

One of the upperclassmen, a skinny guy with short, reddish-brown hair, was brandishing a baseball bat that was dressed in the school colors: black and white. He tapped the bat several times against the ground, by his feet, then swung it back up and into the palm of his hand. A sick, cracking sound echoed through the restroom every time the bat made contact with the tiled floor.

There was no question that this individual was on the baseball team; if the bat wasn't a very clear indication, his matching jersey was. On the back, Shuichi could make out a big "37", and underneath that, the name "LEON", both in black font. It wasn't a rare sighting at all to see a jock teaming up on someone who couldn't possibly compare to them in size or strength, but it was rotten, nonetheless.

Next was a female student that looked a bit familiar to Shuichi, though all he could tell from his angle was that she had blonde hair and a bully's stance. They may have had classes together, but he wasn't too sure. The girl was holding what looked to be something much smaller, but also, much _sharper_ , than a baseball bat. It wasn't obvious whether it was a knife or a shard of glass, but it would surely cause pain, either way. She had the weapon raised about an inch above her waist, angled in an attack-ready position.

Last, but not least, was the oddest of the three. This guy was the tallest one, likely due in part to his ridiculously styled hair, standing at about six feet. He wore a dull, purple jacket that stopped right below his knees, though saying he was "wearing" it was probably not all that accurate. The jacket hung off his right shoulder, as he only seemed to have his left arm through its sleeve. Fashion sense aside, what really made him stand out was how he approached their victim in a very _hesitant_ way. In fact, if Shuichi didn't know any better about how these encounters usually played out, he would say that this guy really _didn't_ want to be involved.

The first student, presumably named Leon, brought the bat up to his shoulder. In no rush at all, he was the first to approach the cowering boy. Even though Shuichi couldn't see their faces, he could assume that the upperclassman's expression was one of malice. He was probably grinning ear-to-ear, thinking of all the ways he could inflict pain.

A voice finally split through the anxious breaths. The female student had turned to face Leon, now. "Don't break anything. Try not to, anyway."

Shuichi realized from her profile that she was, in fact, a fellow classmate. A real bitch, too, but hardly boring. Her name was Kaede Akamatsu. Naturally, she didn't have many friends, though she managed to recruit a few goons from time to time just to do shit like she was doing now. Not to mention, she was pretty good at making plenty of enemies.

Though he had never spoken to her, Shuichi knew enough about her to avoid her. It was almost discomforting how much malicious intent was embedded in her eyes now that he was paying attention enough to notice.

Leon rolled his neck, and probably his eyes. "Yea, sure. Even though it would be doing this runt a favor if we just killed him." He had crept close enough to the cornered boy, now, that it was no challenge for him to sweep the bat under the victim's feet and knock him to the ground, because that was exactly what he did. It happened in under two seconds, but nobody else moved. There was a hard _thump_ , then another... The victim had been knocked into the wall first, then slid right on his ass to the ground. He toppled to his side with no resistance.

With a solid thud, it was over. If the three of them didn't kill the boy, it would be a miracle, with all the weapons they possessed and the hatred for someone weaker than they were that festered in their hearts. It was a true display of the metaphorical food chain at work.

Shuichi might enjoy killing game shows, but that was because the entirety of faith he once had in humanity had vanished soon after entering high-school. It was the entire system that had given up and failed the students of the academy by allowing heinous acts of violence such as this that ripped that faith right out of him. It was the weak being preyed upon, while everyone like him sat back and watched. It was not for entertainment, but rather, to remain nothing more than a bystander.

Even bystanders had an opportunity to climb the ladder. As long as you didn't allow yourself to become the prey, you would always have a chance.

Kaede approached the still heap of what was barely a human. She appeared to be gauging the initial damage, hovering over the boy like a tiger admiring a kill. After determining her next move, she threw her right leg back and...began kicking the shit out of him.

Though unsure of where every blow landed, Shuichi knew each one hit a mark. He could hear whimpers and short gasps of pain coming from the other side of the restroom after each, dull thump of contact. This went on for about five minutes, maybe longer.

Then, it finally stopped.

"Alright, that's enough. Move aside, for a second." It was Kaede speaking, again. Obediently, the other two bullies had taken a step back, exposing segments of the victim's body.

The all-black, long-sleeved uniform that the victim wore covered nearly every inch of him, making injuries unclear. That soon changed, however, as Kaede reached down and grabbed both sides of the bottom of his shirt. In a flash, with the sound of fabric being ripped and distressed, she had forced his uniform shirt off. There was a lot of jerking and muffled groans for the minute it took for it to give way. In a thoughtless manner, she tossed the shirt behind her. It landed about a foot in front of Shuichi.

Between Kaede's legs, Shuichi could see some of the damage for himself, now. Dark traces of black, blue, and red littered the pale chest and skinny arms of the boy they had just beaten. Every mark that he could see showed out stark against the white of the skin that had so long been hidden away.

Many of the bruises and faded scars were obviously older wounds, most not fully healed. This boy was like an open archive of abuse; abuse endured almost daily by fellow students. His unwillingness to adapt and conquer his school life showed about as well as a full moon on an unclouded night. It was, by every definition, pathetic.

"Kaito...go ahead," Kaede commanded.

The ridiculously dressed upperclassman that _wasn't_ holding a weapon stepped back up. The same hesitation that Shuichi sensed before still seemed to grip the taller student as he took that step, making no effort to advance hastily.

Shuichi thought for a moment about that social ladder, and how some people climbed it. It could be that this guy, Kaito, was no different than most of the people that did exactly what they needed to in order to climb. If he didn't, he would surely end up just like the boy on the floor, stripped entirely of his humanity. That was almost a fate worse than death to most.

Now, Kaede brought the sharp object she was holding up and held it out to Kaito, who wasn't eager to take it, at first. She said nothing more, but motioned with the weapon toward their victim, then back to him. Another moment passed before her offer was accepted.

As the object was passed between the two of them, Shuichi finally realized that it was, in fact, some kind of knife. It was likely a smuggled pocket knife, knowing the school's lack of proper security, and the fact that none of the school officials really cared. Truth is, a lot worse had made it through the doors.

Once Kaito, albeit cautiously, had taken the knife, he acted as though he didn't know what to do with it. He seemed to observe it for way too long, turning it between his fingers in a similarly cautious manner. Once again, there was no haste. He wasn't taunting or thinking; he was stalling.

This must have annoyed Kaede, as she elbowed his arm and cocked her head in the direction of the victim, who was still not moving. "Would it help if I explained what that thing does? Are you seriously that fucking worried? Leo bashed his ankles with a baseball bat, for fuck's sake. C'mon, Kaito!" She was yelling, now.

"Okay, fine. Fine!" Kaito balled his free hand into a fist as he spoke for the first time during the act. A shaking voice gave him away. He brought his fist up to the side of his forehead, with force. "Fuck! Okay, I can do this. Just...hold him down in case he squirms, okay?"

So that was it. He was scared. Kaito was worried. About what? Shuichi could only guess that it had to be that he was worried about getting into trouble with school authorities. How absolutely _stupid._ There was no way. If anyone had given a shit in the past, then the three of them wouldn't be standing over a student that they had just beat with a bat and kicked relentlessly. That student wouldn't be laying there, taking every hit with experience, not bothering to make an attempt at escape; he wouldn't be riding it out.

_So stupid._

As annoyed as she was, Kaede went ahead and began dragging the body of the boy out from against the wall. She stepped over him, straddling his body.

Now facing her partners in crime, Kaede's face was fully exposed. Shuichi watched her lips tighten and her face scrunch into an expression of disgust. The bully's eyes darted back and forth between Leon and Kaito. There was no mistaking who their ringleader was.

The face of the boy who he had yet to identify as anyone he knew was now more visible. If he was any closer to him, Shuichi would surely have seen his small lips trembling. Hot-pink cheeks were streaked with what was probably sweat or tears, if not both. His eyes were still hidden under his hair, which was now even more of a mess, with stray strands sticking to different parts of his face.

Shuichi would never have referred to himself as a helpless individual, though he couldn't help but feel a certain type of way watching the other boy suffer so much. He remembered what had just happened in his History class. Was that just a watered-down version of this situation? The two scenarios were not at all equivalent, but could he relate on the simplest of terms?

 _No._ He didn't have harassers who cornered him in a bathroom and beat the hell out of him. He wasn't curled into the fetal position or sprawled out on the floor. At most, he was verbally mocked in class from time to time by his professors and peers, but never physically tormented.

Still. _Still._ Shuichi couldn't explain it, or make sense of it in his mind. Did he feel _bad_ for the boy?

It didn't matter who felt bad for him, because any chance of evading his torture had been long gone. No one was coming to help, and regardless of how he felt, Shuichi wasn't stepping in.

Kaito was kneeling with the knife, looking back up at Kaede. Now crouched beside the boy, he used his free hand to grab the victim's wrist, pulling it out from against his chest. This caused the boy to slump onto his back, allowing full exposure of the upper-half of his body. "You got him? There's no way he isn't going to move, Kaede."

"Yea, yea. Just stop freaking out." Kaede kicked the boy's other arm off his chest, where it seemed to fall as he rolled over, and stomped her heel against his wrist. This caused him to shriek in instant, agonizing pain as he threw his head back and arched his body. Not at all phased by the noise he was making, she continued to grind her heel into him, which just elicited more wailing.

Shuichi could see Kaito's grip on the victim's other wrist tighten with the need to control each, jerking spasm. There was at least one time that he was sure the guy was going to end up letting go, but it didn't happen. They had trapped their prey.

"I told you he was gonna' squirm! I haven't even cut him, yet!"

"Shut up, already, or I'm going to have Leo do it!"

Leon was standing guard, now, making sure the victim didn't throw his feet up too high each time he moved with the pain. There was no doubt that he could break the boy's legs with that bat, given the go-to from their ringleader. He was ready, too, with the weapon resting against his shoulder, again.

After some bickering and mumbled words that Shuichi couldn't make out, Kaito finally made his move. Knife secure in his hand, he brought it down to the boy's chest. Another cry of fear escaped him just before the first cut.

All Shuichi could see was the motion, and it didn't look precise or practiced, at all.

There was just more and more frantic screaming and garbled crying, followed by limbs slapping against the tile, followed by choking and more crying. Each and every sound bounced around the restroom, surely finding its way into the halls, where someone was bound to hear.

It was time for Shuichi to leave. All the upperclassmen were distracted trying to keep their victim still while they tortured him. This was no place to be caught, especially since he already had somewhere to be.

He slipped back out, remaining unnoticed. It was something he took for granted far too often.


	3. Kokichi in the Bathroom

Kokichi Ouma had to be the most miserable clump of nerves and bruised flesh that had ever stumbled into that restroom in all the years that this unforgiving school had been around. He was nothing more than a byproduct of an uncaring and cruel society; a punching bag for every degenerate that decided to take their anger out on him. This boy, who may have once been a fairly average student who lived a fairly average life, was now reduced to nothing more than a bunch of mangled bits.

He was a nobody; a shell of a human that had been flipped inside out, exposing every single emotion. His purpose was nothing more than to exist as the very thing that absorbed everyone else's hatred for their own realities.

So, why was it that Shuichi had made it halfway down the hall before he began to reconsider leaving behind a nobody? He couldn't quite figure out what it was he had felt, but something had forced him to come full-stop on his way back to the stairs leading to the first floor. At that point, he wasn't doing a lot of thinking; his body moved entirely on its own.

In no time, he had found himself back inside the restroom, standing at the entrance like he had been before. Of course, he had waited around the corner on the girls' side until he saw the three harassers leave and continue down the hall from the direction he had come, looking like a pack of wolves satisfied with today's kill. There was no way he would allow himself to get caught by them.

Upon entering the boys' side, Shuichi was met with the unsurprisingly gruesome remains of what had been left after the upperclassmen finished their deed: a crumpled and bloody mess of a person. To the normal individual, this would be a gut-wrenching discovery. To someone who was passionate about a _killing game show_ , this wasn't all that shocking. Human beings were evil, ruthless creatures, after all.

The victim didn't move or make a sound upon someone reentering the restroom. It was likely he hadn't realized Shuichi was there, yet.

Without having thought about why he had come back, or what his own intentions even were, he decided just to approach the boy. His steps were cautious. It wasn't even apparent that the victim was still breathing, so the chance that his tormentors might come back to finish the job or dispose of his body started to seem plausible.

It wasn't like someone like this could even be saved; not because he was laying in a puddle of his own body fluids, sprawled out on the bathroom floor, or because his torso was covered in markings of every kind, or because his face was hidden behind a matted nest of hair. No, this was a completely lost cause. He couldn't be saved, because he didn't care to be, anymore.

That was the feeling Shuichi was picking up on, standing only about three feet from the victim.

Then he took another step closer, passing the previously discarded uniform shirt.

Then another.

He still didn't know what the hell he was doing. His knees began to feel weak as he took in everything in detail.

The tiny incisions on the boy's chest where Kaito had used his knife were still oozing blood, but they didn't seem too deep. It was hard to tell for sure, though. After some observation, Shuichi could finally see the tiny, irregular breaths that forced the victim's chest to move ever so slightly.

So, they really didn't kill him.

Further up to the boy's neck, the markings began to fade and give way to the sickly-colored skin that was even more ghostly up close. There was gross contrast between the abuse and the untouched parts of the body. On the edge of the boy's collarbone, there was even a purple-tinted ring where someone had dug their teeth into him. Almost parallel with the bite mark was a heavily scabbed wound, closer to his shoulder.

What was it that drove people to act in such animalistic ways? _Fear? Hatred? Plain disgust?_

Suddenly, a spasm shook the victim's body. Shuichi found himself kneeling in front of him, reaching out and laying a hand on his torso. He didn't know why he did that, either, but he felt the boy tremble more with the touch. It was like his body went into shock every time it experienced contact.

Each little tremble came in a wave, caused by the continuous contact as Shuichi traced his finger across every scabby gash and swollen bruise. It was like reading a story in braille, but it was more than that. It was captivating. He brought his finger up to the collarbone, traced it gently all the way to the opposite end, and then rounded it out at the neck. After getting that far, he brought his hand back to his side and just...watched.

After some time, the waves of movement slowed to a stop. Once again, the boy lay nearly motionless. His lips, a pale pink and the only visible part of his face, parted just a little as his breathing steadied down.

Shuichi reached over and removed a stray hair that stuck at the corner of the boy's mouth, careful not to graze his cheek too much. "What is your name?" The words had flowed out of him as if he were greeting a stranger under much friendlier circumstances. He didn't really expect a response, just as he hadn't really expected to hear himself speak. Nothing he was doing was making sense.

Nothing...what was he even doing there? What was the point? _What-_

"Kokichi...Ouma."

So there he was, kneeling in front of the victim who he now knew to have a name. That was the entire sequence of events leading up to the present. Though he had spent the time recapping everything in his head, Shuichi still couldn't wrap his mind around his own reasoning.

_Kokichi._

Kokichi the nobody who he had come back for.

_For...what?_

"Who...are you...?" Kokichi's voice came weak and split up between jagged breaths. It was a small voice, soft and defeated. "Why are...you here?"

This time, Shuichi finally started to think. Carefully, he figured up a proper response to the second question, because in all honesty, he really hadn't realized until now why he was there. He spoke just as softly, "I'm Shuichi Saihara. I guess I'm...hiding, but I saw everything that happened. I wanted to...check on you, I guess."

_Is that right?_

Although he was feeling a bit hesitant this time, he leaned forward a little and began clearing the sticky, tangled strands of hair that blocked the boy's face. Flushed cheeks, streaked with both dry and fresh tears, were the first to be revealed. He pushed a few more strands aside, ignoring the hot breath hitting his palm. Snot mixed with the tears, piling at the top of Kokichi's lips as he remained still and quiet, allowing this complete stranger to act almost intimately with him.

Shuichi held his own breath as he brushed aside the last chunk of hair. He just...stared.

There was no gauging the amount of anguish within those eyes. They were red, filled with weakness and sitting tears that would surely be blinked away at any given moment. He could have had dead, emotionless eyes, but no; he was still in agony. Had he really given up, yet? Had he irrevocably accepted his demise?

_No way._

Kokichi really did look like the kind of person who had been broken down so much that he no longer had the capability to bottle shit up. Some people grew cold, others allowed themselves to become numb. This guy? No, everything was out in the open.

It didn't take any detective-like skill to see right through him; there was no mystery. No context was needed.

Since the boy had yet to respond, Shuichi pushed himself up and backtracked near the entrance to the restroom, where the torn, black shirt still lay. He swiped it off the ground and beat it against his leg, removing anything that may have stuck to it. He brought it back over, kneeled down, and gingerly held it out.

He was given an apathetic look.

"I...don't really care..." Kokichi mumbled, rolling his eyes away from him and avoiding the offer.

Shuichi shrugged, sticking his forearm into the ripped collar. He wrapped it a few times around his wrist. Once it was secure, he took two fingers under the cloth and lowered them to Kokichi's cheek. After waiting a few seconds for some kind of interjection, which never came, he began to dab gently at the tears and snot and small stains of blood that littered his face and neck. It would help a little bit; not much, but a little bit.

Kokichi sighed. It was a shaky breath that sent noticeable shivers through him, but he looked more relaxed, afterwards. He still wasn't looking at Shuichi, though. His eyes had grown even more dull; unfocused, really.

_What is he thinking?_

There was endless possibilities. Shuichi racked through them as he kept patting here and there with the makeshift towel. _Surely, he doesn't trust me. He has to be wondering what I'm trying to get out of him. Maybe he doesn't care that I could be a potential threat, or that he knows nothing about me, yet. Searching for logic? Or..._

"Why are...you doing...this?"

It was fairly obvious that there had to be a reason. Right? Why would anyone chance an encounter with the wolf pack just to come back for the fallen?

It took some thinking. Shuichi stopped cleaning below Kokichi's neckline, dropping his hand to his side before answering, "I feel sorry for you. You've attached yourself to your weakness. You'd...never survive a killing game. You can't even survive high-school." All of that was true, but it wasn't his answer. "May I...I want to help you..."

 _No, stop. You won't even be attending school here, in a few weeks. This isn't worth the trouble._ He clenched his hands, the shirt still tight around his right wrist. These feelings were all too sudden, but Shuichi couldn't deny them. He really did want to help this guy. In fact, he hated to see someone give in to hopelessness like this without giving it a fair fight.

After all, Danganronpa had taught him that without such hopelessness, there would never be a hope, at all. Hope and despair had to coexist, as neither would exist without the other. What he really, really wanted...was to see what Kokichi's hope would be like. Shuichi was more than curious to find out what kind of hope could fester if that tiny flame was nurtured and grew and multiplied.

What would encouragement and strength turn him into?

"I want...to see someone like you change." The truth fell out of him like a weight that had been chucked through the air. "I want to help you...somehow. I want to see your confidence...that is what interests me."

It was with these words that Kokichi's attention was finally brought back. He swiftly turned toward Shuichi, eyes wide like an animal caught in a trap. An expression mixed with shock and confusion spread across his features.

Shuichi watched as the boy attempted to turn his body and push himself up. After wincing and groaning with the pain of what was probably a broken rib or two, he managed to sit up. He remained hunched over at a weird angle, but at least he could move even that much.

"Can you...ah," Kokichi began, but grimaced as something somewhere on his body hurt. It seemed to take him a moment to regain his thoughts. "Can...you help me...? I m-mean..." He was observing the floor, not meeting Shuichi's eyes, again. A drop of sweat rolled down the side of his forehead as he tensed up once more.

This was an unexpected reaction. He really did care, if even a little bit, about his predicament. This boy really was interested in getting some help, but could anybody actually provide that?

Shuichi was feeling doubtful that he could help. He never had to pull himself up from the bottom, yet here he was, telling someone else that he wanted to see just that from them. It really wasn't even fair for him to offer that kind of support, especially since he had just met Kokichi, but he couldn't pull himself away from any of this.

With less thought on the matter than he should have put into it, Shuichi reached out and cupped Kokichi's cheek, pulling him back to face him. The boy's eyes were still wide, now searching his own expression for answers. "Absolutely. I want to see it. Your hope and will and hidden strength. I want to see your limits and why you cave. I want to see what gives you life."

None of it was a lie.

Kokichi released a long-held breath, and Shuichi inhaled deeply the hot, salty air. He closed his eyes, tasting the desperate aura and allowing it to fill him.

This could be his little project to entertain while he waited for his eighteenth birthday to approach; while he waited to leave it all behind. Yes, this absolutely could fill the empty spaces of boredom until then.

He dropped his hand from Kokichi's cheek, still holding eye contact.

This was his decision.

It didn't make sense. It was spontaneous. It was stupid and reckless.

But did it matter how senseless or spontaneous or stupid or reckless it all was?

No.

So, Shuichi pushed back up off the ground, letting the shirt unravel from his wrist, and extended a hand to help Kokichi. It was the awkward beginning of something; the details didn't matter. All he knew for sure was that he was going to make it fun.


	4. Some Kind of Savior

"So...do you know them? Personally, I mean..."

Shuichi's voice cut through the heavy silence like a knife. Truthfully, he was only half-interested in the answer. The repetitive, squeaky scraping of his and Kokichi's shoes dragging against the waxed tile was starting to bug him, and he just needed something to distract himself from it. They had only made it about halfway to the stairs, and already it was beginning to feel like a long walk off of a short pier.

"Know...who? Oh, no...not really." Kokichi's response was dry. He sounded distant, like he had been spacing out for a while. It wasn't like he was used to having someone help him like this, that was for sure. There had to be a million questions of his own running through his mind.

It had been over an hour since Shuichi had decided to go back for the boy. Just as they were originally planning to leave the scene of the assault, the fourth-period bell had sounded off, echoing obnoxiously to let them know that they needed to hide. Just barely escaping the class switch was difficult as it was, with both of them cramming into the furthest corner of the end stall of the restroom, locked in, while students came and went during the brief time in between. It was somewhat anxiety-inducing, but they managed to remain hidden.

Shuichi was bound to be in even more trouble since he had gone AWOL after being sent to the office, which meant to him that there was no point in going, at all, now. The most they would do is suspend him, which wasn't exactly a punishment for someone who didn't care to be at school, in the first place. There was a certain thrill about being on the run, anyway.

Not that he was running. Kokichi's right arm was slung around his shoulder, forcing him to hunch over in quite the uncomfortable position just to stay level while he supported the extra weight. The boy's other arm stayed swaying against his own body, limp with lack of strength, and beat all to Hell from where Kaito had done everything in his power to keep him restrained while he tortured him.

In order to give Kokichi plenty of room to lean against him, Shuichi had slipped one arm out of his backpack strap, letting the bag dangle on his free side. This evened out the weight just enough. It was working well, so far, even if they both continued on unsteady feet. It wasn't going to be easy to keep going like this once they hit the stairs, though. He could already feel his lower back begin to ache.

"Just a little further..." He whispered, more to himself, as he tried not to focus on the pain that was slowly creeping up his spine. 

There was no way to avoid being spotted if anyone happened to step outside of a nearby classroom or round one of the end corners. It'd be an odd sight to see: a couple of absolute misfits wandering aimlessly during the start of fifth-period classes. Not to mention, Kokichi was still half-naked and covered in streaks of blood and bruising.

The shirt that Kaede had ripped off of him was beyond any kind of repair. Shuichi wasn't sure why he did it, but he had shoved it half-way into one of his pockets on his uniform pants once he helped Kokichi off the restroom floor. It now swung back and forth against his thigh, still stained dark in various spots where it had been used for clean-up. If this school wasn't its own, twisted world dictated by corrupt higher-ups and bullies, the tattered shirt would have provided perfect evidence against the upperclassmen that had cornered the boy.

Too bad that was exactly how this school operated.

Every now and then a sharp inhale or tensing in movement would alert him that Kokichi was still suffering from the recent abuse. They _had_ confirmed that there were no broken bones, though that didn't mean that there was no other internal damage.

Shuichi had witnessed the possible signs of it, himself. Kokichi had been coughing roughly before they had left the restroom, hacking up a nasty mixture of blood and mucus into one of the sinks. His face had grown beet-red from the struggle of just getting the gunk to come up, and his eyes had glossed over, filling with new tears.

While he appeared to be a little better, presently, Shuichi wasn't totally convinced. It did make him wonder how serious previous injuries might have been; it wasn't an appropriate time to ask, if there ever would be one, but it didn't stop him from thinking about it. Kokichi had to have endured a lot during his time at this school, so it just felt obvious that there had been way worse encounters than the most recent.

How many despairing situations had this boy been caught up in? _How many times have they hurt him?_

It was incredibly unlike Shuichi to be so worried over someone he had just met. Difficult as it was to dissect his current feelings, he wanted to just sum it all up as being curiosity. Yes, that was it. This was just an interesting case involving an interesting individual whose life was drastically different from his, but not the total opposite. Neither one of them were at the top of the social hierarchy, and yet, they weren't in the same spot on the ladder, either.

It was curiosity that made the most sense to him.

In no time at all, they were almost to the stairs. It was a blessing in itself that they had not run into a single soul.

Shuichi suddenly felt a hand on his side. He look down at the exhausted, purple orbs that met his gaze. Kokichi was clutching at his shirt as tight as he probably could, tugging at him gently with his left hand. The pleading gesture caused him to all but trip over his own feet as he focused his attention. "Oh...uh, you...want to stop for a moment?"

Nodding, Kokichi mumbled something close enough to 'please'. It sufficed.

The two of them came to a halt near the top of the stairs. Shuichi shot a glance down the adjacent hallway, hoping no one was coming. It was all clear.

He helped Kokichi down onto the first step without a word, unsure if he would be able to get him back up once they started moving, again. He looked even more tired now that he was leaning over his knees, burying his face. There was a chance he wouldn't be able to proceed much further, at all, and that wasn't a good thing; if they remained there for too long, they'd be caught.

 _So what?_ Shuichi thought to himself. _I may need some help with him, anyway._ It was true, too. He didn't even know where exactly they were headed, and if he took Kokichi to the nurse's office, it would at least give him a reasonable excuse as to why he never showed up to see the principal. What would happen after all that, though? He had to consider for a moment whether or not the incident would be pinned on _him_ ; it wasn't uncommon for favored students to have their crimes covered with a blanket of lies and blackmail by the higher-ups of the school. Would this case be any different?

"Hey." Shuichi's train of thought was instantly interrupted. It took all of two seconds for him to determine that the voice wasn't Kokichi's.

He spun his head around to see...another student; not someone dressed in school uniform, but definitely someone he was familiar with: a male with short, faded-green hair and an empty expression. He was wearing a short-sleeved, black-and-navy-striped shirt with a large print of something like a compass on the bottom left. The guy wore several necklaces, some hanging low and some tight around his neck like chokers. Without seeing them all, Shuichi also knew he had several piercings in each of his ears.

The student was Rantaro Amami; also a second-year, and a fellow classmate. He was leaning to his side, craning his neck to look over Shuichi's shoulder. "What's up with him?" He asked, pointing with one finger and tucking his other hand into his jean pocket. His green eyes held slight interest.

He must have sneaked up on them from behind. There was no way Shuichi would have missed seeing him approaching, otherwise.

"Uh, don't worry. He's fine..." He began, bringing his hand up to his neck to soothe the whiplash that was already setting in. He then paused as he realized this surprise encounter could very well be a useful one. After all, he was just contemplating getting someone to come help him out. "Actually...I guess I could use a hand. He really needs to see the nurse, or...something."

"The nurse?" Rantaro dropped his hand, looking quizzically over at Kokichi, still. "He looks pretty bad from the back. What happened?"

It was true that Kokichi's wounds weren't the most severe, but the baseball bat had done the most damage. His ankles and lower-calf area were already swollen and sore where he had been struck, making it impossible for him to so much as stand on his own.

Shuichi folded his arms over his chest and shifted a little. Divulging all the details could be a bad move, so he needed to be careful. "Just a few assholes got hold of him, but...he can't really walk. Could you, uh...help me get him downstairs? If you don't mind me asking..." It would be no easy feat to get Kokichi down to the first floor without stumbling on the stairs. He could tell Rantaro wasn't the type of person to cause any unwanted trouble, so he assumed all he could do was decline to assist them.

From the few classes Shuichi had with him, he knew that the guy liked to keep his head down and stay quiet. Sometimes, it was easier to just ignore the everyday drama, and that was more than understandable. There was a chance he wouldn't want to be involved in any of this, though, and while there wasn't much to be lost, there was every bit of help to be gained.

Of course, he _was_ asking questions.

Kokichi let out a muffled groan in the background. This must have convinced Rantaro, because he nodded, a small smile lifting at the corners of his lips. "I think I know what to do, actually. Do you have somewhere to be, by chance? I can handle things from here."

He certainly wasn't going to take the passive route of pretending to ignore the situation.

A little stunned at how things had progressed in this direction, and how quick this guy was to do more than just accept his request, Shuichi shook his head. "Ah-! Are you...sure? I mean, I just needed-!"

"I've got it," Rantaro cut him off, waving a hand in front of him. A few bronze and silver bracelets dangled from his wrist, clinking together with the motion. "I try to avoid sitting through my fifth-period, anyway. That Shinguji can be a drag. Besides, I've got a friend that could patch him up way better than the school nurse." He chuckled to himself, then crossed his arms behind his head. In appearance, the guy was nearly too innocent.

Shuichi had to wonder how genuine he truly was. He was trying his best to accept the offer, while still feeling hesitant. This was all beginning to seem way too convenient. How had he gone from asking for a little help to being totally relieved of the burden?

"Look, I can see you're worried about your friend, here. If it makes you feel better, we can meet back up after classes are over." It must have been easy for Rantaro to read his mind, because he definitely did. There was a certain calmness about him that balanced out the uneasiness that hung in the air. "Do you happen to stay in the dorms? I could meet you outside of them."

Not a word had come from Kokichi, yet, which felt odd. This was, after all, about his well-being. It was probably true there was more effort being put forth now than there had ever been for him, so maybe he just didn't feel as though he should say anything. Perhaps he was so used to dealing with the aftermath of his abuse that he really just didn't care what happened, anymore.

"Well, I suppose...maybe...?" Shuichi really had to think, here. It wasn't like he would be going back to class, so he had been counting on using the whole incident as his excuse. "I, um, live on campus, yea...we can meet at three, since that's when classes let out for the day?" He spoke it as more of a question.

 _Is it really okay to just dump Kokichi on someone else?_ The boy had become his responsibility once he decided to leave that restroom with him. He wasn't necessarily his priority, though. If he was caught outside of class without having gone to the office, he'd have to deal with it.

Rantaro nodded in further agreement, unfolding his arms and making his way past Shuichi and over to Kokichi. He squatted down on his feet beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "How do you feel right now? Are you okay coming with me?" He kept his voice low and comforting. It was incomprehensible how someone's demeanor could be so relaxed.

Kokichi didn't say anything. Shakily, he turned and looked to Shuichi, but a coughing fit caused him to slouch back over as quickly as he had lifted his head. This lasted for several minutes before the boy just sunk back into his knees, arms limp, again, around his ankles.

"I think it will be for the best. Only if you're sure you don't need my help," Shuichi answered, instead. They were pressed for time if Kokichi's condition was worsening, and their options were few. He needed to make some sort of decision.

Whether or not this "friend" of Rantaro's could do any good for the boy was another whole story. Shuichi was well aware that this might be his only choice, though it definitely felt like a lazy one on his part. There was little he could say about handing Kokichi over to a stranger, though, because he hadn't even known him longer than a few hours, himself.

The risk had to be better than just leaving him on the bathroom floor to bleed and suffer.

Rantaro's eyes moved between the two of them before he spoke, saying, "Alright. It's settled, then. I'll meet you at three, outside the dorms. Oh..." Pausing just a moment to take his hand off Kokichi's back, he gripped the rail on his left side to hoist himself to his feet. He turned and faced Shuichi, dusting himself off with one hand and extending his other. "I never got your names. I'm Rantaro Amami, by the way."

Shuichi reached up to take his hand. He didn't catch enough energy between them to shake it. "Uh...yea, I'm Shuichi Saihara. Sorry about that. We have a few classes together, I...think. This is Kokichi..." Without retracting his hand, he glanced down by the stairs. Honestly, he didn't remember the boy's last name, and he wasn't expecting it to come back to him, anytime soon.

Rantaro closed his eyes for a moment and gave him a playful smirk. "Ah, so you two don't know each other very well. I see, then."

 _Well, I guess he caught that. He reads between the lines pretty well._ Feeling Rantaro's grip loosen, Shuichi dropped his hand back to his side. The guy certainly came off a bit odd, aside from that easygoing nature of his.

"N-no, but I-"

"Seriously, it's no big deal. I'll make sure he's taken care of. Go on ahead, before the bell rings. You don't want to be spotted cutting class." Rantaro winked, grinning wide from ear-to-ear. It was the second time he had interrupted Shuichi.

There was no saying otherwise. The plan was set in stone, and they had already agreed on their time to meet.

Shuichi allowed a sigh to escape him as he stuck his arm back into the loose strap of his backpack. He adjusted it, pulling it tight against him. The weight of the books being redistributed made his back feel about ten times better after carrying Kokichi all the way down the hall. "Alright. I'm heading off, then. I'll see you at three."

Rantaro only nodded, his expression remaining the same.

It didn't feel right or wrong to walk away from them. This wasn't in the least how Shuichi had pictured his day going, and heading back to help a stranger who had been tortured to near-death on the floor of one of the school restrooms had been a last-second decision that he made in order to get away from his own problems. Not once had he wondered whether or not said stranger even wanted to leave with him. So, did he _need_ to feel any certain type of way about the whole ordeal? Was he even allowed to?

He took a few steps back and held his hand up to signal his departure, nodding at Rantaro, who returned an overly-friendly wave. They'd meet at three, and if they didn't, he sort of felt like it wouldn't matter.

What was important was that Shuichi get out of there before the next bell.

Without checking on Kokichi, he turned and began to walk back the way they had come, once more. He would keep a brisk pace and exit the floor using the second flight of stairs at the opposite end.

Subconsciously, he was already heading towards the dorms.


	5. Enter Kokichi Ouma

_Shuichi._

_Shuichi Saihara.  
_

There was no forgetting that name.

Or that face.

There was something unnerving about the guy; something other than his senseless actions, and spontaneous decision-making. Maybe it was the unnatural coolness in his voice as he spoke, letting words glide so smoothly to the ears of the intended. It could be the way that he carried himself, with a certainty that wasn't overly-confident, but dangerous, nonetheless.

Whatever it was that made Kokichi Ouma feel so nervous in the presence of the other student, it was sticking with him, even now.

The events of the day were already beginning to blur for him. He had no recollection of being carried down the stairs and out into the courtyard; he didn't remember being taken into a stranger's dorm, or laid gently onto a bed that wasn't his own. Everything that happened after he had been beaten and left to bleed on the floor of the restroom had been tucked away into the deeper recesses of his consciousness.

Well, not _everything_.

Of the few details that he could pick out of the jumbled mess that was his collective memory, he _did_ recall the piercing, hazel eyes of his savior. Those eyes, too, were cold; hinting at what was to be feared, lurking behind them. It was unpredictability that buried itself inside of that gaze, and nothing had ever frightened Kokichi more than being unable to prepare himself for what was next to come.

Some of the horrific and terrible situations that he had found himself in _were_ predictable, like being cornered in that restroom. Regardless of what should be the standard norm for a typical high-school student, Kokichi's day-to-day had always consisted of a large-scale game of "cat and mouse". He had been caught several times, and taken his punishment with as much strength as he could muster.

While most would see him as nothing but a weak and pathetic loser, he took pride in one thing: his resilience. As many times as he had lost the game, he had recovered from the trauma twice as fast as anyone else might have. He hadn't offed himself, yet, nor had he given up on attending his classes, either. He very well could have just skipped out on school and stayed in his dorm, today, but he hadn't. There was no benefit to come from giving up, no matter the amount of torture he endured.

Inside of him, there was still some ounce of **hope** that he could turn his life around if he just persevered.

Maybe all he needed was that perseverance.

Kokichi tried to clear his head, blinking away the lingering thoughts; after all, he wasn't relaxing in his own room, where he had the liberty to daydream of a better future. _That's right..._ He was in someone else's bed, currently facing a bare wall, with his hands tucked against a pillow and resting by his cheek. His knees were bent, and his feet were tightly pressed against his bottom, covered with a heavy blanket.

With no memory of how he got there, the completely foreign atmosphere began to envelope him in anxiety. It was a chest-tightening, spine-chilling sort of anxiety that he couldn't ward off using any amount of positive thinking. There weren't many reassuring aspects of his current situation, anyway.

As if by sudden awareness of his body's position, he could feel his back stiffen. He yearned to just stretch out and feel every joint pop in its place, but he refrained from moving. If he moved, he would alert whoever might be in the room with him. Kokichi had to get a sense of his surroundings, first. He had to stabilize his breathing, too, because already he was feeling panicked.

The numbness in the rest of his body was wearing off, and he began to feel the pain in his ankles, as well as the stinging gashes on his chest where he had been cut up. Above all else, his right wrist was hurting him the most. 

He dared to lift his left hand, just slightly, as it wasn't attached to the still numb arm beneath his ribs, where his other wrist was throbbing. After flexing his fingers and ridding of any tingling sensation, he made a fist and rubbed out the blurry spots in his vision. A sigh escaped him, but all too quickly, it was noticed.

A familiar voice broke through the air, soft and calm, "You're awake, I see. That's good."

It was a comforting voice, but still a strange one. Kokichi reluctantly began to turn his neck towards the source, his head feeling like twelve tons of weight on his shoulders. He pulled enough upper-body strength together to face the person speaking to him, trying his best not to gasp with the sharp pains that shot up his sides.

It took him a minute to fully focus on who was talking to him, because said individual turned out to be the least interesting detail of an environment that was nearly too much for Kokichi to take in all at once. Deep reds and even darker colors swirled around him, giving him unnatural feelings. Everything matched in what was probably the creepiest way: wine-colored carpets, blood-red tapestries and dressers and blankets, posters containing many shades of the same color, and even crimson candles were distinguishable. Accentuating these items were black trinkets of various kinds, black knobs on the dressers, and black patterns on the floor.

It was like waking up to something akin to a goth-themed ritual. The candles, especially, radiated an occult vibe. There was no way this was the dorm room of a high-school student. Right?

However, sitting in front of the large window that was straight across from Kokichi, which was covered by one of the massive red tapestries, was a boy around his age. Of course, he appeared taller, sitting in a chair with its back against his torso, legs stretched out in front of him and arms folded over the top. There was no doubt that this was who had carried him all the way here, though the reasons behind that were still very unclear.

"You seem a bit confused. I'm Rantaro Amami." Without having to be asked, the stranger introduced himself.

Suddenly, it all clicked. Kokichi remembered hearing that name, once before: when the strange boy introduced himself to Shuichi in front of the stairs. It was the same smooth and melodic voice, but with much more warmth than in anyone else he had ever known. A hypnotizing calmness settled over him, and he relaxed his posture just a little, letting his shoulders shift against the pillow.

"There's no need to introduce yourself, unless you find it necessary for me to know your last name. I don't believe your friend remembered it, at the time of introductions. But you're Kokichi, right?" Rantaro was making full eye contact, though it wasn't of the totally uncomfortable sort. His eyes were of a kind shape, and his lips were in the form of a small, friendly half-smile. "I hope you feel at ease, here. I know it looks a little odd, but this isn't even my dorm." He grinned, as if he had just told a mild joke.

None of this was all that funny to Kokichi, though, and despite feeling a little better about his surroundings, he still had a nauseousness in the pit of his stomach. This wasn't even Rantaro's room? Why were they there? Did this mean that there was going to be someone else joining them? There was only so much he could handle in one day before his anxiety overwhelmed him entirely.

A few, stressful seconds passed before he realized it was his turn to say something, but what? No words could describe what was going on in his head. He had to come up with something in order to break the pressuring silence. He pretended to be interested in the artifacts scattered across the top of the dresser, just to Rantaro's left, while he figured it out.

Unsure of how he even articulated one thought well enough to speak it, his mouth eventually moved on its own, "Uhm...uh, where am I, then...?" He still avoided returning the eye contact that he could physically feel burning into him. It was the same with Shuichi, back in the restroom, while Kokichi was still laying on the floor. He couldn't recall a time in his life that he was able to comfortably look someone in their eyes, no matter how gentle they were.

Rantaro was quick to answer, "Ah, of course. This dorm belongs to a friend of mine, Ryoma Hoshi. You may have classes with him, though I'm not sure you'd be aware of it." It wasn't much of a helpful response that he gave, but his tone was still calming and factual; like he had everything under control, and that there was no reason to worry.

Yet, Kokichi _was_ worried. What did that even mean, anyway?

He peeked out of the corners of his eyes to see if Rantaro's expression had changed, at all. It hadn't.

The other boy was tapping his fingers along the glossy, wooden back of the chair, and appeared to be concentrating on his thoughts. "You still seem concerned. That's okay, I understand. Ryoma will be here, shortly, I'm sure. He can help you." Rantaro paused and lifted a finger to his lip, as if he was hushing someone, then continued, "You must not remember much. You were spitting up blood by the time we arrived at the dorm, you know. It must all be kind of hazy to you. Ryoma is good at gauging someone's medical needs, so I wanted him to look you over."

That was still not too comforting. It wasn't like this was the first time something like this had happened, but maybe this guy didn't know any better. Maybe most of the students that attended school here were blind to the mistreatment of their fellow classmates. Kokichi knew, though, because he was attacked like he was today, all the time. Though weak at the sight of blood, he was no stranger to it.

"I...I'm...fine..." He managed, but barely. His head was beginning to hurt from stretching his neck to speak with Rantaro. It wasn't worth the extra strain, he decided, so he turned back to face the wall and relaxed the tension in his already-weak body.

"You don't sound fine. In fact, you can hardly speak. I don't want to alarm you, but you're showing signs of serious, internal damage, right now. We will wait for Ryoma before extracting the details of your condition, so please, relax."

But Kokichi was already drifting off, again. Fatigue had overcame him quicker than he could resist it. Part of him was so exhausted that he didn't care that he was falling asleep with someone watching him, while the other part of him knew that he didn't have the energy to just get up and walk out, regardless of how bad he wanted to.

 _Maybe...it will make more sense...later..._ With that one, last thought, Kokichi allowed himself to succumb to an almost involuntary sleep.


	6. A Chance Meeting

The halls were still peaceful as Shuichi finally made his way down to the first floor, nearly two full hours after he had left class. There was almost no emotion left in him, now. He didn't feel resentful, or disappointed in himself. Not at all. _Not one bit_.

It was a fairly common occurrence that he was treated like an outcast by his fellow classmates and professors. He was cold to this mistreatment, and had no desire to feel any different, anyway. That was just his norm. Besides, the incident from earlier was far behind him.

 _Detectives are supposed to think rationally and find truths. They aren't meant to be anybody's friend, nor are they expected to cave in to emotions._ If Shuichi ever caught himself caring about how others felt towards him, he was always quick to abort the thought. Then again, he really had grown to feel indifferent about this school and all of the rats that attended it, so he rarely needed to beat his brain up over such nonsense.

That was how he wished he felt. That was how he _used to feel_.

There was nothing left to contradict the fact that, if even a little, he at least cared about that _one_ person. He wouldn't have done what he did, otherwise, and he certainly wouldn't be at all a touch concerned about said individual's current whereabouts. Yet, he _did_ do what he did, and tucked into the crevices of his consciousness, he _was_ wondering if Rantaro really _did_ take Kokichi to the dorms.

Shuichi didn't look back for even a second to see if the two of them had ever actually left. They should have been gone by the time he reached the second flight of stairs, and if they weren't, it was their problem. The likelihood of Rantaro being able to get Kokichi down the stairs alone seemed slim, but maybe not impossible. 

If they managed to go without being noticed by anyone important, then they would probably be in the courtyard, by this time. There was no chance that Shuichi would catch up with them before they got to the dorms, though.

He wanted to believe in Rantaro; he really did. Something just didn't feel right.

In an attempt to shake the idea that he had potentially handed Kokichi over to someone who might very well have bad intentions, he filled his head with other subjects.

His heavy footsteps became nothing more than white noise as he allowed his thoughts to drift to his most comfortable distraction: _Danganronpa_. The auditions were coming up, and all too soon… _Would they even want another detective? What if a detective didn_ _’t go along with their theme? Or would there be a theme, like on the fiftieth anniversary special? Maybe…_

No. Those weren’t his footsteps. It wasn’t his heart thumping in his chest, either; nothing had gotten him that worked up, today. In fact, they had to belong to…someone else.

As casually as he could, Shuichi turned his head just enough to get a good look out of his peripherals. There was no evidence of anyone following behind him. It took more than a few seconds, but he finally figured out that, though faint, the footsteps were coming from up ahead.

With much lighter feet, as to avoid drawing any unwanted attention, he began to speed up his pace. Fueled by his curious nature, he hurried ahead to where his hallway met at the corner, alongside the first flight of stairs, beside which there was also a side exit into the courtyard. Rantaro and Kokichi likely fled in this direction.

Shuichi could take the exit out, as he had planned, but his attention had already been redirected. He stalked the footsteps as they brought him closer.

Whoever this person was, they definitely weren’t a professor; no, they were dragging along with no confidence or enthusiasm, whatsoever. There was no motivation in their step for them to get to where they were going. Or was there a destination?

At the corner by the stairs, Shuichi paused just at the end of the left wall and the lockers that resided against it. He crept close against the last locker, careful to avoid rattling it, and peeked his head around to see…

_How anti-climatic._

It was yet another, familiar figure.

He bent his knees and crouched down as he used the edge of the locker to keep stable, as if he wouldn’t be noticed in the event that he alerted the student, who was several yards away. The thing was, he probably would be spotted.

The small boy who was wandering about, as if with no direction, was no other than the delinquent Ryoma Hoshi. At only about three and a half feet tall, Shuichi was right in his line of vision, now, though his back was turned to him.

 _So, just Ryoma playing hooky, again._ Shuichi thought, steadying his posture by placing a hand on the ground in front of him. There wasn’t really any danger, but he was feeling too much of an ache in his calves to lift himself back up, right away.

Like for many other students, it was completely normal for Ryoma to disappear during class hours, only to be rediscovered walking around, alone in the halls or in the restrooms. The difference was that he was never punished for this behaviour.

He was a simple person, in design; he usually wore some dark, denim jeans and a matching, leather, or maybe even faux leather, jacket that stayed zipped shut. To top off his aesthetic, he _always_ wore a black beanie that donned a large, crimson-colored “X” on the front, and only ever accentuated these dark clothes with similar, red details.

Ryoma’s already-short stride had slowed to a stop. A quarter of a way down from Shuichi, he stayed standing entirely still, with his hands tucked away in his jacket pockets.

There was no reason to be hiding, anymore. If someone came up from behind him like Rantaro did, Shuichi would just be looking all the more suspicious. He didn’t need that kind of attention.

It took him a moment to find the strength to pull himself back up, with his backpack as unnecessarily full as it was, but he found his balance and stood. He straightened his back and walked out from around the corner. “Hey, Ryoma-”

“You’re not all that sneaky, Shuichi.” Ryoma had a deep voice that radiated what sounded like arrogance. He stretched his words as he spoke them, letting them hang in the air just to make his point.

As cocky as the guy sounded, Shuichi knew it wasn’t _really_ arrogance; it was just a blunt attitude that came naturally to him. He was always like that, from his knowledge. It didn’t make the scene any less awkward, however.

Ryoma turned fully towards him, shoulders straight, but his posture still seemingly relaxed. He was chewing on what looked like a toothpick, which was also a consistency with his appearance, as well as his wide eyes and unchanging expression.

Those empty eyes made Shuichi way too uncomfortable. There was no way he could meet them. Focusing his sight above Ryoma’s head, down the other hall, he managed to speak, “Nothing escapes you, does it?”

“You should know. I’m like the unofficial hall-monitor, around here. So, what are _you_ doing? It isn’t like you to be running around during class hours.” The boy, unblinking, took a hand from his pocket and plucked the toothpick from his mouth, flicking it to the floor like a cigarette butt. He took a few steps forward, closing the gap between them some.

Shuichi was wondering if he should regret even choosing to talk to this guy. He only wanted to waste some time before heading to the dorms so early. There was no way he was going to divulge the details of his day to him, so he chose the short version: “I was kicked out of class, so I’m just waiting out the rest of the day. I figured I’d stop to talk, since I knew you weren’t going to narc.”

“Narc? For what? You’re just ditching. Everyone does it, Shuichi. If you’re looking to pass time, why not head to your dorm? That’s your safest bet.”

He wasn’t wrong, really. Shuichi just didn’t want to sit around and wait. His only other option was to go be chastised by the principal, and he didn’t feel up to that. So, instead of twiddling his thumbs in his dorm room, he was here, trying to make small talk with one of the few people in the whole school that he knew he could kind of trust.

A brief moment of silence passed between them, one in which Ryoma definitely realized there was more to the story, but he knew he shouldn’t pry. It was written on his face, though very subtle.

“Well,” he started, cocking his head to the left, “I guess I can entertain, for a while. I’m not that busy.”

That was proof enough that he was aware of Shuichi’s hidden agenda, and that he didn’t even care. It was just an example of how great Ryoma was at not asking too many questions.

“You can follow me, if you want. I am heading somewhere, just taking the long route.”


End file.
